


A Day in the Life of a Mafia Namekian

by Spacefille



Category: Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Dragon Ball Z AU, M/M, Prohibition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacefille/pseuds/Spacefille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy pricked him like a thorn in his side, he was constantly there, nettling him just by existing. He couldn't get rid of him, nor, over time did he want to, but his presence upset everything.</p><p>AKA Nail is captured and tortured for information, and does a whole lot of thinking while otherwise occupied with making sure he stays alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in the Life of a Mafia Namekian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [g33kg1rl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kg1rl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mafia Z](https://archiveofourown.org/works/908915) by [g33kg1rl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kg1rl/pseuds/g33kg1rl). 



> This is a fanfic of Mafia Z that I wrote in 2012 for my good friend Damgel (g33kg1rl).
> 
> Mafia Z is a Dragonball Z AU fanfic created by Damgel. The characterization of Nail was partly based off of the characterization in DragonBall Z: Abridged (TeamFourStar). 
> 
> Warning for: Non-con and torture.

"This may mean war." 

Nail had meant it at the time. Kidnapping the child of the Saiyan who had killed the late Don Piccolo Daimao was a bad idea. It had been a bad idea from the start. The fact that he was growing up, strong, loyal to the current Don Piccolo didn’t change his opinion on the matter any.

The boy pricked him like a thorn in his side, he was constantly there, nettling him just by existing. He couldn't get rid of him, nor, over time did he want to, but his presence upset everything. 

The boy was a liability, of that Nail knew for sure. However, he wasn't going anywhere, he was eager and completely loyal. If captured, Nail had no doubt he’d fight against his own kind for months, possibly years, before they'd beat that loyalty out of him. 

Especially given the boy’s interest Don Piccolo. 

His Don was aware of the interest, to some extent at very least, he teased the boy occasionally and the boy would flush and become bashful. It was slightly nauseating, if not familiar. Nail ignored the boy when that happened, and kept his eye on his Don. He could see the interest, the smallest lean, an open palm, but his Don was far better than the boy at keeping his interest to himself. It wasn't an issue. Yet. He wasn't looking forward to the day when it would be. He already knew his Don's taste ran towards the exotic, though he couldn't say if the boy had been the trigger of that or not. It was a possibility that Nail refused to reflect on for long. It might have been the boy's fault, but even so there was nothing to be done about it. Being the Don meant that small indiscretions were allowed. It was his duty to the Don to cover those indiscretions up...

Which he couldn't do very well while chained heavily to a chair in a dark room with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Then again, everyone had their bad days. This one was just tending more towards very bad with a possibility of death. 

It wasn’t usual that a Saiyan would be able to get the jump on him, but they had been bold this time. He had been at a bank, well within their territory, and it was the middle of the day. He wasn’t sure what had hit him in the back of the head, but by the way his head was throbbing he guessed it was something in the way of a baseball bat. He would have fought back if the blow hadn’t knocked him out instantly. 

Nail sniffed, dark eyes darting to and fro, mapping out the entire space. He was in a chair. A bare, thick wooden table sat in front of him. The room was long and narrow, with no windows. There was enough room to move about, plenty of space for several people. He had been stripped, he could feel the cool air against his bare pink and green skin, though it felt like they had left him his under garments. How nice of them. He tried to struggle, but the chains were fast and extra thick, probably just for him. He struggled a bit more, testing each and every link in methodical turn, before relaxing again. 

They'd probably keep him alive for a while yet, he thought, he was far too important to kill immediately and it was well known that he worked closely with the Don. That, of course, explained why he was in a room tied to a chair instead of floating in the harbor in pieces. The ransom would fetch a pretty price if they decided to go that route… hopefully his Don would be smart enough not to cave. 

More likely he was wanted for information. He knew everything that Don Piccolo knew and he wondered briefly if his captors really did know how important he was. He allowed himself a small smile at that. They wouldn’t get him to talk, even Don Piccolo couldn’t do that if he really wanted to hide something from him, but they’d try. 

Torture then, after the threats and before the bone breaking. Starvation in there somewhere. A Namekian could survive three or four days without water, a little bit less than most species but more than the popular belief that Nameks had to drink water every day or they’d expire. He could use that to his advantage perhaps, if they believed him weak they might underestimate him. 

This assumed, of course, he didn’t have broken limbs or other injuries that prevented him from moving. 

So, that was his new goal then. Escape before he was unable to move. 

His eyes narrowed. He’d just have to wait for an opening. He was very patient. 

They didn’t leave him waiting long. He looked up warily as they entered the room, surrounding him. Sharp eyes took in everything. Sure, he could ignore the boy most of the time, but couldn't ignore these Saiyans. Giant, hulking, more muscled than most. Enforcers then. He didn’t recognize any of them, which meant they were lower ranking. Probably here to soften him up before he was presented to Don Vegeta. 

He noticed the twitch of their tails, it was impossible not to, muted and far less blatant then the boy when the boy got excited about things, but still there. As he watched one of them shoved the table to the side, leaving nothing between the bound Namekian and his captors. 

Nail mentally sighed when one of them struck him across the face so hard his head snapped to the side. 

How very unoriginal. 

.

Nail lay at the back of the room, breathing slowly, concentrating on remaining relaxed. The injuries weren’t too bad yet, though he kept a mental tab on his wellbeing and another mental tally of his chances. 

One day had gone by. He was alive, of course, and could still move, so he figured he was doing fairly good. Nothing broken yet, but he was fairly sure a rib was cracked. They had unlocked him from the chair when they wanted more places to hit. That Nail endured with the same stoic reserve he endured everything else. They asked him what seemed like more questions than he could count. He hadn’t replied to any of them, of course. When they were done they chained him to the far wall, which is where he was now.

The door to the room opened again. 

Nail didn’t raise his head. No point in letting them know he was still spry and not terribly injured. He watched as a big Saiyan with hair halfway down his back lumbered into the room. He carried a glass in one hand and… oh. Nail could see it had water in it. The Saiyan placed the glass on the table. 

He would have smiled if that wouldn’t have given him away. This game then. The Saiyan thought he was weak from lack of water, and now they were going to play “barter for the water”. 

The Saiyan dragged the chair closer to Nail so that he could reach him without unchaining him, and sat in it. He looked him up and down and then reached down and picked up the chain that snaked up Nail’s torso and around his neck. He jerked the Namekian forwards, bringing him up into a kneeling position in front of him. 

“I suppose you want that water over there, huh, Namek?” the Saiyan growled. 

Nail kept his head down. That only led to his chin being grabbed and yanked up. He winced. 

“Answer me, hatcher, do you want the water? I know your stupid race can’t live without water, since ya don’t eat and all that. You must be starving.” 

He looked from the Saiyan to the glass and back to the Saiyan again. “What do you want in return,” he asked warily.

“Haha, you’re a smart one aren’t you?” the Saiyan grinned, settling back in his chair. Nail watched as the Saiyan wrapped the chain around one hand, jerking it up so that the side of Nail’s face hit the edge of the chair, between the Saiyan’s legs. Nail bore his teeth at him.

The Saiyan just laughed and as Nail watched his other hand came down to rub at his crotch. He didn’t have to fake his jerk back towards the wall. “How about you put those pretty fangs away and give me something I want, and in return I’ll give you something you want?” 

Nail mentally rolled his eyes. Ugh. Predicable. Not entirely unexpected from a savage race like the Saiyans. At least it looked like this guard was working alone, perhaps his friends didn’t even know he was here. He could work that to his advantage. “That’s disgusting,” he growled, jerking back again, though he did it weakly, making a show of not having much strength. “I would never,” he didn’t have to work to put loathing in his voice. 

That got more laughter and a cuff upside the head. Nail rolled with it, let himself hang loosely against the chains. Made a show of struggling for breath. He was injured… weak. If he played this right, he’d get that water by the end of the night. He raised his head, just a bit, and glared at his captor. 

He already had his hand in his pants, and made short work of them, pulling out his thick, hard, disgusting looking penis. He jerked it with one hand, up and down - then yanked on the chains, bringing Nail’s head against the chair again. “Just a little fun, Namekian, and then you get fed. You do want to get fed don’t you? Pretty thing that you are, don’t want you to expire on us do we?” his voice was slightly breathy now as he tugged his dick, eyes already glazing over as he worked it. 

Nail made another small struggle but then paused, making sure to dart his eyes towards the glass. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” the Saiyan breathed. “You want your food.” He brought his hand down to run his hand across Nail’s scalp, rubbing behind his ear before gently tugging it at it. Nail allowed himself to be pulled forwards. 

He was suddenly glad it wasn’t the boy that had been captured instead of him. He didn’t especially favor him finding out the hard way what his people were like… and were capable of. Bad enough that he had to endure this at the hands of that repulsive Namekian... 

.

Needless to say he got his water. It took some humiliation, the big Saiyan was heavy into humiliation, to which Nail couldn’t have cared less. He begged for it, made a show of it too, manipulating the Saiyan with ease. By the end of the night he came away refreshed with a slightly sore throat. All and all he was doing quite well.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
He wasn’t doing as well by the end of the second night. The beating had been brutal, especially since he continued to refuse to talk. He was fairly sure he blanked out a couple times, only to come too again with a foot firmly planted between his ribs. They left him for a couple hours, and then came back again. Nail didn’t have to fake not raising his head. He felt too sore to move. 

They hauled him up again, setting him in the chair. Nail listed to the side but stayed put. One of his eyes was swollen, but he could still see. He looked everywhere, taking everything in. There were two Saiyans flanking him. Two behind. Two more in front, one more by the door. With his feet and hands chained together and behind his back respectively, he didn’t stand any chance at all. 

One of the two Saiyans in front inspected Nail for a long moment, then made a hand motion for the other Saiyan to give him something.

Nail could see it then, that the other Saiyan held a hammer in his hand. He held something else clenched in a massive fist, but Nail couldn’t tell what it was. 

The hammer was telling enough. Oh, here we go, he thought to himself grimly. All he needed to do was survive this, whatever this was, and hope the damage wasn’t so severe it was irreparable. 

Sure enough the table was dragged back in front of him. He listened while the guard behind him unlocked his wrists from each other, the chain clanking away. He instinctively balled his hands into fists and jerked up, only to have the four Saiyans surrounding him grab him and force him back down. He struggled briefly as they brought one of his arms forwards. A Saiyan behind him grabbed his other hand, grappling with it briefly until he managed to separate out Nail’s smallest finger. Nail froze. 

He knew where this was going. “Put your hand on the table, Namekian scum,” was the sneer from the one who held the hammer. 

Nail looked at him. Sure enough the finger of the hand behind him got wrenched back so far it was close to breaking. Nail cried out and reluctantly let them place his hand on the table. 

“Flatten it,” he was panting now and he stared at his hand like it was an alien thing. Sweat beaded his brow and he shook his head. Once, sharply, in a negative.

A hand gesture from the Saiyan in front of him and a sharp tug. Behind him his smallest finger broke. He didn’t have to fake his cry of agony as he doubled over on himself. 

They went for the second finger. He did as he was told and quickly, flattened his other hand against the tabletop. He was a bit annoyed to see that it was shaking. 

The Saiyan to his right leaned over on his forearm, pinning it down. The other Saiyan came around to his front and pressed his hand against his fingers, trapping them against the table.

He finally got to see what was in the hand of the Saiyan that came in with the hammer. 

They were nails. Thick, heavy duty nails. Nail would have laughed at the irony in any other situation. 

He didn’t have to guess what they were going to do with them either. Sure enough, the Saiyan took one of the nails and pressed it to the center of his hand. The hammer came up and…  
.

When he faded back into consciousness his head was lying in a pool of something wet and sticky and his entire world focused in on two horrible points of pain, one of which was much stronger than the other. 

It took him a bit to realize he was still in the chair, and the something his head was on was the table. The stickiness was probably blood. Nail raised his head by degrees. With an almost clinical disassociation he inspected his hand. 

It was definitely the source of the most amount of pain. Two nails held the flesh pinned right through into the wooden table. His fingers were deadened… purpling. There was enough blood that it had spilled to the floor and when he shifted his foot it stuck in it. 

His other hand, the other source of pain was -- he moved it. 

It was free? He brought his hand up. It was still attached to the chain that wove around his body but the link that tied it to the other cuff behind his back was unlocked, and they hadn’t locked it to anything else, even the chair. He stared at it.

The fools. He allowed himself the smallest of smiles. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, he knew that much, but he stood a far better chance now. His finger of his free hand was still broken, hanging to the side at an impossible angle and he grunted. First things first… he placed that hand against the table and shoved, once, quick and hard. The finger straightened. He paused for a moment to pant at the searing pain, then sat up straight. He didn’t have time for pain.

He moved his hand to the nails, sticking the claws of his thumb and forefinger around the head of the nail. He twisted. Fresh blood welled up, making it slippery. After a couple more tugs he realized they weren’t going to come without more leverage. He leaned forwards and caught the head of the nail between his teeth. A couple of tugs and it started to come loose.

Being a Namekian had its advantages.

It didn’t hurt nearly as bad coming out, though he was fairly sure that his hand was numbed past the point of pain. He spat out the nail and went on to the next one. 

A minute later he had that one out as well. 

He inspected his hand again. The fingers twitched, but that was about all. He sighed. It would have to do. He brought the functional hand up and set about picking at the wood that the nails brought up with his claws. He had soon picked out a couple splinters of various sizes. 

Next step… he picked one of the splinters up and leaned down, setting to work on the lock that bound his feet.

He was free within five minutes. He stood and sighed with relief, then wrapped the chain slowly around the arm of his heavily injured hand. He held the other end of the chain in the hand that only had one broken finger, weighing the chain. He lifted it up from the floor and walked towards the door. Locked, of course, but he was armed now. He flatted himself against the wall and waited.  
.

He didn’t have to wait long. The Saiyan who opened the door barely had time to let out an exclamation of shock when the chain smacked him hard and heavy across the face. He went down but Nail was already on the move, leaping over him to kick down the next one, spilling them both out into the hallway. There were about five of them, four or three if you didn’t count the one whose face he just smashed, or the one he was standing on. Two of them had guns and that’s where he swung the chain next, smashing one into the next. A gun fired and he ducked and dove, hitting one of the armed guards in the chest and knocking him down. He came up with one of the guns. 

Three gunshots rang out in quick succession. Nail stood slowly, frowning as he inspected them. Three shot, one knocked out, one was holding his bloody face. Of the three shot, two were still moving. He considered, then shook his head, sticking the handle of the gun between his teeth and used his good hand to toss the chain over his shoulder. Not enough time to get it off of himself. He barely paused, reaching down and grabbing one of the Saiyan’s trench coats by the collar, yanking it off of him. He hit the ground in a dead run. 

.

The room had just been in the basement of a regular house. He took the stairs up three at a time. He passed a Saiyan woman who screamed when she saw him, scrambling back into a kitchen area. He ignored her and darted towards what looked like a front door. Sure enough when he opened it he emerged out into the warm evening air, the sound of the city heavy around him.

He heard the dogs barking before he saw them and broke into a run again, heading for the fence. He scaled it as quickly as he could with one functional hand and a chain wrapped around himself and vaulted over it, landing in the street. 

For a moment he stood still, listening. Nothing, not even shout, though he was sure those were to come. He looked around himself, and found several pedestrians staring at him. 

Nail flushed. Nameks were notoriously modest and he was covered in blood and clad in only his underwear. Wrapped up in chains with a gun in his mouth didn’t help anything either. He transferred the gun to his hand and threw the trenchcoat over it and ran again. He put several blocks between the house and himself before he paused. He ducked into an alley and shed the chains, unraveling them into a heap, then pulled on the trench coat. It was a bit snug around the shoulders and short on the legs, but it would do. He put the gun in the pocket and stepped back out into the street. 

He was about twenty blocks from Namekian territory. Approximately. He detoured heavily, taking the long way around and doubling back several times. He doubted he was being followed after shooting three of them, there wasn’t enough time to gather their resources to come after him, but he didn’t want to risk recapture. He was injured, and though obviously still a menace, it would be a lot easier to snag him now than later after he recovered. Impossible actually, as he now intended to drag either the boy or another enforcer or two out with him whenever he left the house from now on. 

It was nearly dark when he made it to the yard and climbed the steps into the house. He was exhausted. And dehydrated. But he was home. 

“NAIL!” he schooled a flinch as a young Saiyan boy came flying at him, wrapping his arms around his torso. They were both there, they must have heard or seen him approach. He raised his eyes and met the eyes of his Don. 

“Gohan!” Piccolo snapped and Gohan backed off immediately. He stepped back, his eyes wide as he looked up at Nail, retreating to Piccolo’s side obediently. 

“Saiyans?” Piccolo asked, and Nail nodded. 

“Two, possibly three dead. Two more injured,” he held up his hands, then noticed them and brought them down again. Gohan gasped. 

Piccolo’s eyebrow ticked up. “Torture?” he asked, and there was the faintest hint of surprise to his voice. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever tortured anyone for information, and he shook his head slightly. What was surprising was that Nail wasn’t in worse shape. They must have under estimated him… 

Nail nodded, stripping off the ill fitting trench coat and opening the door to toss it back outside onto the porch. “Cracked rib. Possible concussion. Left hand disabled, broken finger on my right,” he supplied. “I didn’t tell them anything,” he added, though he really didn’t need to. 

Piccolo nodded once, sharply, though a small smile threatened to broach his stormy face. “I know,” was all he said. He turned to the boy. “Gohan, go draw Nail a bath,” he turned back. “I’ll call for the doctor,” he said. 

.

He followed the boy down the hall, still clad only in his undergarments and bearing the reminder of the abuse his body had endured that day. Once in the bathroom he settled against the wall, watching as the boy drew the water. The boy looked up at him shyly and smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said sincerely. 

He bit back a retort that he was hardly okay, and nodded once. When the boy looked away with a small frown he sighed. He pushed away from the wall to walk towards Gohan, laying his good hand against the boy’s spikey black locks of hair. The boy looked up at him with wide black eyes that were such a contrast to the cold hard eyes that glared him only hours before. He sighed and patted his head gently, being sure not to put pressure on his broken finger. “Thank you, Gohan,” he said. The smile he got in reply could have lit the entire house. 

He sunk into the warm bath with a soft sigh, relaxing for the first time in days. He waved off the boy, who left with a tentative smile and sway of his tail. Right now he was actually a little bit fond of the boy, though he’d never admit it out loud.

The Don could do worse, he admitted that at very least. If there was to be any Saiyan in his life, Gohan would be his choice. He was the one Saiyan that managed to remain good hearted and resilient despite the terrible world he lived in.  
.


End file.
